Just Trying To Get By
by peacefulsands
Summary: Summary : Castiel watches over Dean after Sam's death. There's a lot he doesn't understand, but one thing he is sure of is that Dean is not healing. He takes the only possible course of action open to him to help.  Warning for bad language


This fic is written for the prompt of art by the livejournal user, lilaeth, for the pictures2words 2010 challenge.

Title : Just Trying to Get By

Rating : PG-13

Word Count : approximately 6,300

Characters : Castiel and Dean

Summary : Castiel watches over Dean from a distance in the aftermath of Sam's death. There's a lot he doesn't understand, but one thing he is sure of is that Dean is not healing. He takes the only possible course of action open to him to help.

Thanks go to H and M for keeping me going when I wasn't sure I could finish and to gestaltrose for taking the time to beta this for me. All of their help was much appreciated.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**_Just Trying To Get By_**

Castiel stood watching, out of sight to all but the most determined of observers. He wished things could be different, wished he could provide a better answer for them both. Under the shadow of the porch of the currently vacant house, he could watch Dean out front of Lisa's house.

He wondered if she saw the same in Dean that he did, doubted it, for all the kind touches he'd seen her make and the reassurances that he had heard her utter.

He'd spent many hours watching over Dean since Sam and Adam had vanished into the Pit, taking Lucifer and Michael with them. He had no regrets about the demise of his own brothers, no real sense of loss for the distant arrogance and superiority he'd always seen from the two of them.

He had pondered over his feelings towards Sam and Adam, but those feelings were still ambiguous, less well-defined. Neither Sam nor Adam were like Dean, and Castiel knew a lot of his own judgments about humankind were based on his understanding of Dean, something else that was far from an exact science.

In so many respects, he felt he did understand Dean and the way he would react. He could see the burden life had placed on his shoulders from an early age, how much of life he had missed or sacrificed because of his family, how much he wanted for them and how driven he was to accomplish that.

Healing Dean's physical wounds that Lucifer had inflicted did nothing for the real damage. Dean had been destroyed inside and Castiel had retreated in the face of the damage, with no idea how to begin to heal it, no understanding of what it was that he would need to do.

He watched now in the hope that he would see Dean healing, but instead what he saw was an ever more brittle façade with Dean crumbling inside. He wanted to intervene, wanted to be there and catch the pieces at the very least.

Dean was not living his dream life; he was trying to live the life Sam had wanted and Dean wouldn't just back out. Castiel knew he cared for Lisa and Ben, in much the same way he'd cared for Adam, maybe a little more. He would always have wanted to protect them, would have done anything for them, but this life spent living in suburbia was not one for Dean.

Castiel wished he could commit to being here, saving Dean, but Dean needed more than transient visits, fleeting associations and temptations to leave this suburban life. Castiel wondered if routine and familiarity would ever make this easier for him, ever let him settle and enjoy what he had. Somehow Castiel doubted it, something within pulled at him saying this life was no more Dean's than Castiel fitted into his own life in Heaven now.

He suspected that their fates would intertwine once more, their lives lap and overlap while their destinies played out. Would they be any better off when it did? Would they find any answers? Any respite from the purgatorial existence they both had right then?

* * *

Dean snuck another swig from the hip flask he'd got from the glove compartment of the Impala, relishing the burn as he swallowed for a moment before popping in the now requisite piece of mint flavored gum in the hope of hiding the truth about just how often he felt the need for those swigs.

He flicked the ignition and floored the gas, turning out into the traffic almost recklessly and heading for 'home'. God, he hated the word; it was everything he'd thought it would be and nothing like it at all and he felt the worse kind of selfish shit for every ungrateful thought that went through his mind.

It was no one's fault but his own. He was the freak; he was the outsider who could never fit in, even when he really tried. Lisa and Ben had been so kind, so patient with him and yet he still couldn't really be part of their family. It didn't feel like he'd always imagined it would as he'd grown up. He'd thought it would be different than this.

He sighed as he sat at the lights. There were days when he sat here and contemplated just driving and not stopping, heading out of town and into the distance and never looking back.

He didn't belong here; he wasn't good enough for this. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them again a second or two later and shifting the car back into gear ready to take off as soon as the lights changed, resigned to sticking it out. He couldn't just run out on Lisa and Ben not when they'd done so much for him and he couldn't just run out on Sammy's dream either, not after he'd promised to do 'normal' for him.

He couldn't forgive himself for letting Sammy die, letting him end up in Hell. It was worse for knowing what it could be like or maybe that was just his punishment for failing to do what his Dad wanted and saving Sammy.

Dean had done all he could to try to 'be' normal. He'd got a job; it barely paid more than minimum wage because he'd got no qualifications to speak of, although his boss was a halfway decent guy and Dean did sort of enjoy tinkering with cars until he could work out how to get them purring again. He'd got nothing but experience though and he'd been thinking for a few days now about his boss's suggestion that he go to night classes and see what else he could learn and bring back to his job. It was a thought, something he'd never had the opportunity to consider before.

It would tie him down though, stop him leaving and . . . He sighed, reminding himself yet again that this was his life, he was supposed to be tied down. Sam wanted this for him.

He pulled into the driveway and pondered whether to take another swig from the flask before he went in. Sometimes he just felt like he needed something to bolster him, something that would let him relax and be the person he was supposed to be.

He hated himself that he couldn't get this right; he was failing everyone around him again. Dad and Sammy, Lisa and Ben . . . Castiel . . . he gripped the wheel tight at the thought of the angel, at the memory of the angel's departure and wished he would return.

Not that seeing Castiel would make anything about this life any easier, just . . . it was Castiel and he had survived, just like Dean had survived. That should count for something.

Dean was weary as he opened the car door and pushed himself up and out. He closed the door and locked it up, heading towards the house. He felt the almost familiar itching burn at the top of his arm : the handprint left by Castiel. Strange how he'd never really noticed it before, but now he seemed to feel it, feel the imprint as if Castiel's hand were warm and burning on top of it. He pressed his own hand down as if the feel of that would supplant the burning sensation below. It didn't make any difference at all. He knew it wouldn't; it never did. The feeling would pass in time, like it always did. Sometimes he relished it, took it as a sign, a reminder of all that Castiel had done for him and he wished for Castiel's return. Not that Castiel did, not that Dean really thought he ever would come back. Dean figured that was right for his life, that he should want something so bad and not be able to have it. Just like he couldn't save Sam or Adam, he couldn't stop Michael or Lucifer; in the same way he figured he didn't have any right to Castiel's friendship any longer.

He brought his thoughts back to the present to Lisa and Ben and what he owed them. He took a deep breath and braced himself as he pushed the front door open and went inside. He was immediately aware of the smells of cooking, good wholesome food. Dean wondered if he would ever get used to coming home to that or even just to coming home to what someone else decided to make; not that he didn't cook a couple of times a week himself now. It had only seemed right when he started living here with Lisa. He owed her something, some semblance of him trying to fit in, trying to be normal. She'd put up with his shit for long enough; sometimes he wondered why she didn't just admit she'd had enough of all the crap he'd brought with him and kick him out. He couldn't see how she and Ben were any better off with him here.

Sure, he tried to do right by them both. He took Ben to his football practice, picked him up from school a couple of times a week, dropped him off some days as he drove to work. The money he brought home wasn't much, but apart from a few clothes, because he couldn't look like a bum and live in this neighborhood, gas and repairs on the Impala and the liqor he'd taken to keeping in the trunk, he gave it all to Lisa. She'd said he didn't need to; they didn't need his money he knew that, but at the look on his face, she'd taken what he offered and now each week when he brought his pay home, she quietly said 'thank you' as she took what he gave without any further comment.

It was the same with his nightmares. She'd sit with him until the cold terror passed from his eyes, until he at least gave the appearance of being lucid and there in the present and then she would quietly leave him to deal alone because when she'd tried to stay, tried to get him to talk, it had been worse.

This was no life for any of them and Dean knew it, but what he didn't know how to do was fix it.

* * *

Castiel could sense the weight that still burdened Dean's shoulders as he watched him climb out of the Impala and walk to the house. Every time he came to watch the burden seemed greater. Castiel didn't understand that; surely as time passed Dean should be finding this life easier. He saw the now familiar gesture as Dean's hand covered the mark on his arm; his handprint. He felt a pull, a drag inside that wanted to draw him to Dean to have his hand cover Dean's, to offer the support and care that Dean needed.

Yet he still had no answers, he still didn't understand why Dean was so weighed down, so isolated among these people. He knew there were few options for discovering the truth. The irony of Gabriel having spent so long on Earth was that he had understood humanity in ways that Castiel wondered if he could ever achieve. Gabriel was gone though. Bobby was another possibility, but Castiel found the older man hard to understand. He was . . . cranky . . . that was the word Dean had once used to describe him, although he'd thought he detected affection in Dean's tone. It didn't make it any easier for Castiel to decipher his motives. He would chastise and growl at both Winchesters when they were in his presence for their stupidity, yet bemoan their absence and complain they hadn't called when they had been apart. As far as Castiel knew Bobby had not visited Dean and Dean had not left this town since arriving.

Dean was isolated from his past and Castiel knew how difficult that could be to deal with. He had felt the loss of Heaven when he had fallen like a part of him had been torn out, never to be retrieved, but that was Heaven. One thing Dean's life had not been was Heaven. Castiel looked round again at the suburban surroundings, remembering the appearance of Lisa and Ben, and tried again to work out why this would be so much harder to bear than the little he'd had before.

He was reminded of Heaven without Michael, without Gabriel, without his Father. It was not the place it was supposed to be. He sighed, looking round again, without the people who really mattered this could never be what it was supposed to be for Dean.

This wasn't justice. It wasn't even an answer. Castiel stepped away, deeper into the shadows before unfurling his wings and leaving in search of answers.

* * *

Bobby was surprised by the knock at the door. He'd heard no car pulling up and it wasn't like he was that close to town that people would happen past and just drop in for a chat uninvited.

Things were different. He'd had time to spend on the yard and getting it back into order. Things had slipped there for a while between Dean going to Hell, the increase in demon activity and then eventually the apocalypse, not helped by him being confined to that damned wheelchair. Now he had time on his hands to fix the place back to some kind of order, still going out for the hunts when he needed to.

He didn't miss the full-time hunting but he did miss the boys, as he'd come to think of Dean and Sam, even Castiel to an extent.

He opened the door and gave a half-laugh of surprise as he saw Castiel standing there looking as awkward as ever. "C'mon in, kid," he greeted. "Wasn't expecting to see you around these parts. So what brings you here?"

"Dean," Castiel said simply.

Bobby frowned, "Dean? Why? What's happened to him?" If the boy was in trouble, why hadn't he called and let Bobby know? Yeah, Bobby didn't need to think on that one too long to come up with more than enough answers.

"Nothing has happened, but . . ." Castiel bit his lip, a surprisingly human action. "I have watched him and I do not think he is happy."

Bobby shook his head, "Cas . . . come on in – I need coffee for this. I thought you understood Dean. More to the point, I thought Dean was the one person you idid/i understand." He took pity on the angel who was clearly trying to understand but at a loss to make sense of the human reactions he observed.

They sat down in the kitchen and Castiel watched Bobby expectantly as he turned to brew some coffee. A few minutes later, he sat down opposite the angel with a mug in his hands, no surer where or even how to start to explain. Castiel took matters into his own hands by starting to speak, "I have observed Dean. He has a job, one he takes pride in . . . his employer seems pleased with him. He lives with Lisa and her son, Ben, he seems deeply entwined in their lives; he takes Ben to school, works round the house, helps with tasks and shopping and . . . and other things humans fill their time with. They smile around him all the time, Ben gives many ihugs/i? I believe that is the term, he seems to revel in Dean's attention and often requests Dean's presence when he wishes to practise sport in the garden or when he is remaining at school late to play in organized games. Dean does all this. He smiles, yet . . . it is not his full smile, and when I look at him he seems burdened. Surely his burden should be lighter now; the Apocalypse has been averted."

It all seemed so simple when looked at through the angel's eyes, Bobby thought. "Castiel . . . in Dean's eyes, he failed." Castiel's brow furrowed slightly as he tried to understand. "He failed because Sam and Adam are in Hell; he failed because Sam set Lucifer free in the first place; he failed because the Apocalypse would never have started if he hadn't broken the first seal. How far back do you want me to go?"

"That could not be helped . . . it was his Destiny to break the seal and Sam made the choices that led to the breaking of the final seal and . . . and I suppose that was God's Destiny for Sam."

Bobby gave a wry smile, "That don't make no difference. Was it your destiny to fall? To rise to Heaven again in the same way?"

Castiel looked down at his hands where they lay on the table, clearly struggling to come to terms with it all still. "Why doesn't he move on?"

"It's not that easy, I guess. Why haven't you? Why do you come back to watch him and check he's okay? Have you moved on? He can't forget the choices he made, the ones where if he'd chosen differently everything would have played out differently. If he hadn't made the deal to save Sam . . . if he hadn't left Sam alone while he was in Hell . . . If –"

"It would have made no difference : it was God's intention. But I – I do not believe God intends him to suffer still."

"Well that shows God's a fool in that case, how can he not expect Dean to suffer? Dean's lost what matters – he's lost his family."

"But God has given him Lisa and Ben."

"He'll care about them, protect them but they're not his family, Cas. You are more family than them. He'll do all he can to be who they need him to be, but that suburban life was Sam's dream, not Dean's. Even John's before Sam . . . despite everything that was what John wanted for him . . . I think John would be sorry to see him like this though."

"What was Dean's dream?"

"Beyond saving his family? I don't know that he ever thought that far," Bobby's words were quiet, laden with sorrow and guilt that somehow they all shared the blame for Dean never having a chance to know how to be happy.

"You do not visit him?"

"No . . . we spoke for a while on the phone, but I think it was just making things harder for him and so I haven't called in a while. Maybe I should, then I could go visit him, see if . . . check on him."

Castiel nodded.

* * *

Bobby's phone call had unnerved Dean and his visit had finished the job off properly. His nightmares were back in full force and in daylight the feeling that he didn't fit had escalated from itch to full-blown torment.

Every smile felt fake; every movement an act, like he was a stranger pretending for every moment of the day. He knew that hadn't been Bobby's intention; that Bobby needed to know whether he was well and healing and 'normal'.

But he wasn't.

It was the middle of the night and he was sat on the side of the bed, trembling uncontrollably, barely aware that he was awake, that the nightmare should be fading. The façade was crumbling; he was teetering on a parapet ready to plummet into an abyss. He couldn't do this.

Lisa was at his side, arm around his shoulder, whispering soothing words that should comfort but didn't. He should pull away, end the pretense but he couldn't move. He was failing . . . failing and falling and if he didn't do something soon, he was going to drag Lisa and Ben with him.

"I'm sorry," he shuddered as the words slipped out, "I'm sorry, so sorry." She pulled him closer, her warmth the only thing keeping him grounded, stopping him from reaching for a gun. She pressed a chaste and gentle kiss to his temple and held on until he calmed enough to lie down again.

Neither of them had an answer, a way to make this easier; maybe there weren't any to be had.

* * *

Castiel responded to Bobby's call and listened as Bobby told him in no uncertain terms that he had to find a way to ease Dean's pain, to take some of Dean's burden, because if he didn't Dean was going to fall apart.

Bobby had offered no way to do that, no solution or words of wisdom.

There was no one else to ask. All that remained was to follow his own instincts for Dean's needs and Castiel wasn't sure that would be anywhere near enough.

* * *

Dean wasn't needed in work and Lisa and Ben had already left for the day. The lack of sleep the night before had left him listless and depressed. He wandered from room to room, knowing he needed to find something to do, some reason to stay.

Lisa had made him promise that he wouldn't leave today, wouldn't just pack up and go. She'd made him promise to talk with her when the time came and let her know where he was going and when he would be back. It left him unnerved that even now she wasn't willing to let him go, that she was determined to make this work, no matter how much he failed.

He searched the house for something to do, some reason to be here. He felt the familiar burn on his arm, stronger and warmer than before, reached his hand up to it and tried to cover it, only to feel as another hand settled over his. "Dean," the word warm and assured, breathed onto his neck.

Dean felt his knees give way, felt as he was caught and pulled back against the warmth of someone else's body . . . Castiel's body.

"Cas . . ." he choked out, only to find himself turned and pulled in tighter still, felt the angel's arms wrap around him, imagined Castiel's wings enveloping him further still, shielding him from the world.

"Dean, I am here," Castiel murmured softly, lips close to his ear. "You are not alone." Castiel guided Dean to the couch, where he sat down and pulled Dean to rest against him. He felt as Dean stopped resisting his ministrations, relaxed fully against him and fell into the sleep of the exhausted.

* * *

It solved nothing. Castiel watched as Dean slept knowing that while Dean clearly needed this, it was no real answer to the root of his problems. He was willing to do whatever he could to help and maybe this at least was a start.

He felt as Dean relaxed deeper into sleep, stirring occasionally to shift position and grip Castiel's shirt tighter as if to keep the angel close until he was ready to wake again. Castiel had no intention of leaving. He relaxed, easing himself into a comfortable position, then taking the chance to savor the weight of Dean's presence against him, feeling a surge of both possession and protectiveness well up inside him.

Castiel felt the change in the way Dean shifted against him as he woke again a couple of hours later and prepared himself to talk, trying to shape his thoughts into something that Dean would understand.

* * *

Dean was confused as he finally regained consciousness. Nothing felt right. He felt the weight of a hand pressing down on his arm, down on his handprint and he shuddered, trying to focus. Lisa – Lisa never touched him there, from the first time she saw it, she had avoided touching that part of his arm. He wondered about it briefly, whether it was disgust or fear that it might hurt or . . . just that she couldn't understand it. He hadn't really had time to keep thinking about it, worrying about it

He let out a quiet groan as his eyes opened and he pushed himself up, but the pressure on his arm didn't change. Instead he heard his name, "Dean" and knew. He pulled away already feeling a burning sense of loss and he broke contact between himself and the angel, forcing himself away and denying the loss, transforming it to anger instead.

He lurched upwards from the chair, turning, eyes blazing, to face Castiel. "What the fuck did you do?"

He could see the surprise in Castiel's face, the shock at the accusation and felt the flicker of guilt in the pit of his stomach as he knew his behavior was irrational. "What did you do to me?" he snapped again. "One minute I'm . . . I'm fine and the next, I'm out cold. We all know you can do that, so what's the fuckin' excuse this time?"

Castiel's head was tilted to one side, a frown clear across his brow as he appeared to be pondering what to say. Dean swallowed anxiously, half afraid that Castiel would tell him to quit talking bullshit, but he didn't. Instead the answer Castiel gave was, "You were tired, Dean. I did nothing to you."

Dean turned away angrily, wanting to argue, wanting to tell Castiel to shut up and get out and . . . he didn't. He really didn't want to admit to the truth in Castiel's words. There was no way he could have been that tired . . . nobody falls asleep that suddenly without some sort of magic or pill or something. His internal monologue was broken by the sound of Castiel stepping closer, the feel of his hand resting over the handprint on his arm, which felt warm, warmer than before as if it was buzzing with some kind of energy.

Dean started to move as if he were going to pull away but Castiel's hand just tightened. "Dean, talk to me," Castiel said simply, as if anything could be that simple.

Dean shrugged, head dropping and remaining silent for a few moments, before he turned enough to see Castiel's face. "Cas?" he knew his voice sounded as broken as his heart felt.

"I'm here, Dean."

Dean laughed, a bitter sound that fell in the silence between them. With a shake of his head, he stepped away. From the emotional safety of the other side of the room, he spoke again, "I don't know what you're doing here; what game you are playing at now, but I don't want any part of it. You hear me? I don't want anything to do with any of you goddamned angels . . . I'm not some sort of fuckin' toy that you can pick up and play with and discard any time you feel like it!"

Castiel stood watching, waiting, letting Dean shout all he wanted without trying to stop him.

Dean's anger began to wane with his flagging energy, the volume and vehemence leaving his tirade. He took another step backward as if to reinforce the space between them. "You can't just come and take me away from this, you know." He shuddered. "You can't."

"Dean?" Castiel's voice was quiet.

"This is my home," Dean said quietly, but the words lacked the conviction he knew he ought to be putting behind them.

* * *

Castiel had been surprised by Dean's reaction on waking, the accusation that he'd used some sort of 'angel mojo' in Dean's words when he hadn't. At first, he hadn't been able to understand the outburst but as he'd watched and taken in as much as he could, there had been tell-tale signs that Dean was not being honest; that his actions were predominantly defensive. Castiel watched and considered, weighed each element against the rest, piecing it together like a jigsaw until he hoped that he'd fathomed enough of the situation to proceed.

When Castiel listened beyond the obvious, Dean sounded utterly broken. "You are not happy here," he stated simply, preparing himself for another outburst as he stated what he saw as the truth. Dean just shook his head, refusing to make eye-contact. "Dean . . ." Castiel wasn't sure what to say.

They stood quietly, neither moving, neither breaking the silence. Eventually Castiel stepped forward again, slowly approaching Dean. As he reached out to take hold of Dean's arm to try and offer reassurance, Dean's eyes came up full of fire and loathing, "What do you want? What are you doing here?"

"I just came to see you, Dean."

Dean snorted in disbelief, "As if . . . You _angels_ have always got an ulterior motive, Castiel, so spit it out! What do you want from me?"

"I want nothing 'from' you." He could see the disbelief clearly in Dean's expression. "I came to see that you were . . ."

Dean turned away, a sneer passing over his features. "Don't talk crap."

Castiel was baffled; he hadn't expected the conversation to be so difficult. "Dean? This is . . . I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. I didn't mean this visit to be so . . . awkward?"

Dean sighed, "What do you _want_, Castiel?"

"I tell you the truth, Dean, I wanted only to visit you, to try to offer comfort. . . I . . . I have observed you, seen that you are not happy here and I thought to come and see if I could help."

Dean nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "Have you been around a lot lately?" he asked, finally looking at Castiel without anger, bearing just resignation. "Explains a lot," he continued when Castiel nodded. "I can feel you," he said, pointing to the top of his arm. "It burns when you're near now. Didn't used to do that."

"I'm sorry," Castiel's reply was quiet. "I came to see that you were well and . . . and I could see that you were burdened and so I came back again to see if it were a temporary thing or . . . or not. You are weary, I could feel your exhaustion."

"So you thought you'd pop by an' make me sleep?"

"No . . . I wasn't expecting that . . . you just seemed to . . . I did nothing, I promise." He was relieved when Dean nodded and seemed to accept the explanation. "Can I help?" he offered quietly, watching as Dean bit his lip.

"I don't fit here, Cas. This isn't my life, I can't be 'normal'. Don't get me wrong, Lisa and Ben, they're great, but this is me we're talking about and I'm not good enough for this!"

Castiel stepped closer, reaching out to rest his palm over its imprint on Dean's shoulder, for the first time really feeling the energy that zinged between the two of them. Keeping his palm tight, he used his free hand to pull Dean closer, "I never meant you to feel so alone here. I did not realize it would be so difficult." There was a pause. Castiel held Dean close, aware of each miniscule element of relaxation in his body, surprised that Dean seemed to have given up fighting. "This was not your dream for your life," he whispered.

"No," Dean admitted softly. "It wasn't."

"Why stay?"

"I promised Sam and besides where else would I go?"

"I wish things could have been different," Castiel murmured, "I wish I could have stayed."

Dean nodded. "It would have been something, but . . . but it's not your fault."

"And what happened to Sam and Adam . . . that was not your fault either," Castiel assured.

"Doesn't make it any easier to take though, Cas." Dean looked up, sincere eyes locking on Castiel's. "I don't suppose they're going to let you stick around now either, are they?" He looked down as he added, "I'm sorry for . . . what I just said."

"If it would make things better for you, I wish I could stay . . . but I can promise to come back . . . I'll be here as much as I can. I . . ." Castiel cleared his throat nervously, "I have missed your company."

Dean smiled sadly, "Yeah, I missed you too - and that's not girly at all. Fuck Cas, what are you doing to me?" There was a hint of familiar affection in his tone.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No, Cas, no. It's just me. I feel like a fake, a fraud; I don't deserve this and I don't know how to make it work. Lisa . . . Lisa is . . . she's a good woman, better than I ever really dreamed I could have, but I'm afraid of all the ways I'm letting her and Ben down, all the bad things that might come here because of me. I don't want to be the one to ruin –"

Castiel interrupted, cutting short the self-recrimination, "You will bring nothing down on them that would not come regardless, I promise you that. You offer them protection, deep affection and loyalty. Do not belittle what you can and do mean to them. I have watched, Dean. I have watched you all. Ben loves the activities and time you spend with him, the support you offer him . . ."

"I'm not his father."

"No, you're not," Castiel gave a slightly awkward shrug. "You're his 'Dean', a role only you can fill. You have a lot to offer to both of them. You should not think of yourself as a burden or disposable. They may well be able to survive without you; it may be that they would find happiness again if you left them after a while, but it does not mean that their lives are not richer for having you here. As is mine."

Dean's eyes snapped up in confusion at Castiel's final words. Castiel drew him closer again, voice lowering as he leant closer to Dean's ear, "If the choice were mine, I would be here with you, but I have duties I must fulfill. Things in Heaven are improving and so I am freer to travel than was initially the case. If you were agreeable, I could visit more frequently."

Dean nodded, eyes still registering surprise at Castiel's words. "Dean, I don't have answers and there are things I cannot currently change. My duty is great in Heaven. The war left much in need of reparation and few in a position to do anything about it. If things were different then . . . I would leave Heaven for you . . . I can't do that. I need to ensure that all is right there, I i_need/i_ to do all I can to ensure that angels can never use humans as pawns as they have done in the past. I need to do this to ensure i_you_/i are safe."

His mouth hovered beside Dean's ear as he whispered, "You were worth falling for."

* * *

Dean couldn't believe the words he was hearing, the longing it stirred within him. He turned his head, eyes meeting Castiel's and seeing the reassurance he needed as Castiel urged him closer placing a gentle kiss upon his lips.

It was nothing he had dreamed of before, everything and more than he had wished for and so much less for its brevity and the knowledge that Castiel would be leaving. It was a promise that he was known, loved and understood. It was the strength he needed to continue until next time.

As Castiel stepped back, Dean found his fingers wrapping into Castiel's coat to stop him leaving. "You will come back."

"I will."

* * *

Time heals all wounds, or so the saying goes. Dean wasn't sure that he could ever believe it to be true, however, he knew he'd been offered something more than most. Castiel understood his weakness, his pain and had not abandoned him. He was being offered another chance at a life and he needed to find a way to make it work.

Things changed between him and Lisa, their friendship deepened as they stopped trying to be something they no longer wanted from each other and instead became what they each needed. Ben was the center of their world, treasured and loved for the hope he offered them both for the future.

Castiel remained a constant sense within Dean, the feeling of heat in his shoulder enough to let him know he was thought of frequently, even when Castiel could not visit. It was enough to give him strength through many dark hours.

Nothing could ever fill the sense of loss for all that he could not redeem or replace, for the people he wished he could have saved. Nothing could ever take the weight of Sam's loss away but Dean struggled on.

Castiel promised him God had plans for Sam and Adam's redemption but there were no time-scales or false assurances that all was well. Castiel had seen Hell and was not about to give fake platitudes to things they could not deny.

Nothing would be easy but life would continue and Castiel would be there for the darkest hours, as if he knew when the burden became too much and Dean would struggle on with Castiel's words "You were worth falling for" shining to lead him forward.

* * *

**_Author's Note :- _**_ Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed my efforts. Feedback is appreciated, but please do not spoil me for season 6 as I have not yet seen those episodes. Thank you._


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